Crisis?

My life has always been about hope. About tomorrow. Holding onto something that might be, that somehow tomorrow holds the answer. Having something to look forward to has allowed me to have some sort of faith, however, in a way it has been bad because it has taken away all the moments I could have been living while waiting for my “miracle” to happen.

As time goes on, I am beginning to realize that my miracle will never happen. That the things I have been hoping for are impossible. The older I get the worse I feel about my life and about the future. So what point is there to going on living when I feel like I am already dead? There is nothing but pain from here on out.

It took me forever to learn to talk about my feelings. I was 27 years old when I saw my first counselor. I remember that day when I was about to get up and just walk out the door and something inside me cried out and I broke down. I had begun the long process of opening up. I remember feeling that day like I had some hope. Perhaps talking about my issues would be enough.

It was not. 13 years later and countless hours of sitting in a therapists office for nothing. Most of them just listen and then take your money. I felt at times I would be better off talking to a wall.

I always knew my battle was not only with myself but it was against time. Especially with respect to my BDD. I have always hated my body (I cannot even look in the mirror. I haven’t been able to since the age of 14.) Time is a mean, mean thing. It changes you, both physically and mentally. If I couldn’t deal with my appearance as a young person, how the heck will I be able to deal with it now? The answer is I can not. It’s too late.

On top of my BDD I have also been dealing with depression, OCD, and anxiety all my life. OCD and anxiety have been at the forefront whereas the depression was sort-of kept in check by my hopes and dreams of a better tomorrow. Those dreams have now gone. Nothing excites me anymore. I try to get out and get some sense of pleasure in the world but I feel like I am already dead, a living corpse robbed of all emotional pleasure. Pain yes, but no pleasure.

Constant worry. I worry about everything. I worry about my parents dying (my dad is paralyzed from the waste down and my mom has her own health issues). I am so scared about the prospect of having to deal with the death of a loved one. I have dodged that bullet up to now but it is inevitable. Time is not on my side on this one. I sometimes think if I were to **** myself first, however, I would not have to deal with the inevitable pain. I have always been the trail-blazer of the family. Why not be the first to leave this world.

I was so desperate to have ECT during my last hospitalization. I felt like it might be the one chance of fixing whatever was wrong with my head. That failed. I feel like now I am stuck in some kind of other dimension, some kind of twilight zone. Every day I stare at the world and wonder if I haven’t already died and this is some kind of version of hell. I cannot do many of the things I used to be able to do on computers.

So here I sit. Tired of fighting. Scared. Alone (no family, only my cat). Lost. I have tried everything, counseling, medications, ECT but nothing has worked.

So where does that leave me? It appears that my choices are very limited. Continue to live this life of hell which gets worse and worse with the passing of time or end it all?

I know I would hurt a few people if I go but that’s ok. Hopefully after reading this letter they will know of the pain I felt and how hard it must be for me to live. And that death will at a minimum remove me from this world of pain and maybe even take me to a better place. A place where I am no longer consumed 24/7 with worry and sadness.

UPDATE - I wrote that letter several months ago. Things have become worse since then.

I thought I would recover from the ECT. That my mind would somehow improve with time. That this feeling of being in a different dimension, a different world, "hell" as I like to think of it, would go away. Well no it has not. I am more scared as ever. I don't want to go out in the world. I have anxiety to the point where I perspire and I feel like I am going to die. People stare at me.

I have gained so much weight. My BMI is now 44+ and its affecting my health. My asthma is worse. I can barely get up from bed. Clothes shopping is a joke.

My mom is in the hospital with Pneumonia and Sepsis. I am so scared to go see her. If I don't go and she dies I know I won't be able to handle it. I am scared of the world.

I have not left the house in days. I am scared to look out the front door to such a scary place.

I do not want to go back to the hospital. It never helped me before. It won't help me again.